The Road To Perdition
by AssButtAnonymous
Summary: Dean's family has been fighting demons and supernatural beings for ages. When they are slaughtered in their home Dean barely has time to escape, badly wounded and delirious. This is a story of revenge, action, adventure, romance and very dark themes.
1. I

Most men Dean's age were already settled own, their life just barely falling into place and unfurling itself out. They knew what they wanted, knew what they had and had plans for the future. Dean was not most men. Dean Winchester knew two things for certain in his life: Firstly, Bert and Ernie were gay. Secondly, that the world was filled to the brim with monsters that most people could barely dream of and he would probably kill them until the day he died.

He had not experienced anything called a 'miracle', nothing especially magical that would constitute as both a good thing and wouldn't cost anything in exchange. Faith healers were always fraudulent, keeping a Reaper on a leash or using the Placebo effect to cure healthy people. Then there were those who wrapped themselves in the security blanket called 'religion'. Dean knew about demons, Hell too, but there was no Heaven. There was no place where the good people went, where the righteous rested their weary heads. When good men and women died they were just gone, plain and simple. Death brings no peace to the ones left behind.

Dean nursed his third beer for the evening, sitting in solitude on the hood of his precious Impala while he thought about the day. He and Jo had burst down the doors of a Vamp nest and torched the blood suckers after they had sent a week gorging themselves on the townsfolk – not half as easy as it sounds. With every sip he felt the dull throb in his skull from what was probably a concussion, the superficial lacerations all over him still stinging from Ellen's rather violent disinfectant session. She'd really cracked down on medical treatment after Sam nearly got gangrene last summer. Good thing too, it had saved everyone at least a couple hundred in hospital bills; regardless, that woman was terrifying when she had her mind set on something.

Finishing off the last of his alcohol he decided it was enough for the evening and headed into the house. Shuffling up the stairs to his room for the night, Dean toed off his boots before flopping onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh of relief. There really was nothing quite like a soft bed after a long day of killing monsters. The instant his head hit the pillow Dean's body was claimed by sleep.

Castiel watched as the morning of his day began with the slaughter of the Righteous Man's clan. The demons came in the night, having followed Dean using a tracking device carefully hidden underneath the body of his car during his hunt. The hunters had never anticipated demons to use such _human_ methods, never would have dreamed them to become so crafty. Waiting for the clan to get comfortable, they made their move – systematically destroying the demon traps, hex bags and other wards with human puppets they had tricked into servitude. God wasn't the only one with a human army at his disposal.

He could not sit idly by as he watched Jo Harvelle fall, ripped to ribbons by hellhounds. As Ellen fought with a new found desperation she too perished, followed shortly thereafter by Bobby. As the flames from their battle threatened to completely engulf the house along with every sleeping hunter in to Castiel flew swiftly to the Heaven that Zachariah had declared his 'office' before forcing his way in and demanding to speak to the Angelic Authority.

"Castiel, you know this can be seen as insubordination. What is the meaning behind this?"

"The Righteous Man, he-"

"Is safe and sound, he will survive this."

"Wh-"

"We've known, Castiel. The Righteous Man must be broken before he can grow strong and become the weapon he must be."

"But-"

"This is God's Will, Castiel. We cannot intervene."

He felt his form shirt then, all of his mouths becoming dry as he stared in horror at the Angel before him. Trying to be the voice of reason, knowing inherently that something was _wrong_, he spoke once more.

"He is just a man, Zachariah. He could break beyond repair, he could turn if we do not offer him guidance and assistance in this."

"Castiel, stop this blasphemy immediately. The word of God is final – we will not intervene. Stand down."

"I-"

"Stand down or face the Wrath of God."

He knew that this was a fight he could not win – Zachariah was too set in his own ways that he would not be able to see his point. Zachariah could not feel the wrongness of his own orders, the bitter taste of questions that needed to be asked left unspoken. Bowing his heads in submission, Castiel allowed his wings to droop as he kneeled before his superior.

"I apologize for my behavior, brother. It was…a momentary lapse in judgment. I will not allow it to happen again."

"All is forgiven, little Castiel. I trust you to keep your word – I will hold you to it."

Leaving the 'office', Castiel knew what he had to do. Going to his preferred Heaven, he took a few deep, unnecessary breaths before reaching his Grace back in time to properly prepare his vessel for this moment.

"Father, forgive me."

Then he was gone.


	2. II

Dean woke to the smell of burning plastic and the crackling of wood splintering from heat. Opening his bleary, sleep deprived eyes he immediately regretted it as they instantaneously began to tear up from the smoke surrounding him. Coughs wracking his bulky frame as he quickly made his way to the door, he made the mistake of grabbing the solid iron handle. As the pain seared through his arm he cried out, ripping his hand free before the skin had a chance to fuse onto the heated metal. Taking a few tense steps back, he braced his shoulder and rammed the door open, the oak cracking from the stress and swelling from the heat.

An inferno awaited him outside his room, smoke pouring in more ferociously than before. Ripping the sleeve off of his button up he was grateful he had forgotten to remove; he used it as a handkerchief to aid his breathing. Desperately, he searched the room for another means of escape before his eyes landed on the sole window on the opposite side. Testing the flame licked boards beneath his feet to ensure they would hold him, he ran out the window; Dean could feel the glass as it shattered on impact, slicing and embedding itself into his flesh.

The falling had never been his concern, the feeling of floating almost a relief as he felt the flames flare up and explode out the exit he had created in his haste. Too late he realized his room was on the third floor – there was no way he could get out without some kind of broken bone. The ground coming fast, he turned onto his left side, ensuring his ability to drive, write and other conventional actions. He felt his arm and ribs snap, heard the sickening sound of bones breaking like twigs under foot. As he fought back the urge to cry out once more he rolled onto his back and cradled his devastated side in his good arm. His breaths coming in short bursts, he forced himself into a seated position and regretted it instantly, the pain slicing through the ruined tissue of his back.

Crawling to the nearest tree, Dean forced his aching body to obey his command to stand as he stumbled his way through the dense forest cover. His pain addled mind tried to rationalize, tried to tell him that everyone else had made it out and that he should seek shelter for rest. As darkness ate at the corners of his vision he managed to reach a clearing. The last thing he saw as he lost consciousness was a man wearing a crumpled trench coat with possibly the most amazing blue eyes he had ever seen staring directly at him.

"Hello Dean."

It had taken less time than he had anticipated getting Jimmy Novak's cooperation. He was devout beyond fault, taking each test in stride and finally accepting him into his body with no qualms; he had only required the promise that his family would be safe. Hoping that he could keep well on his promise, he agreed and then flowed into Jimmy. His body felt different than Castiel had anticipated, far more complex than he had imagined. As he pulled his Grace into the man he left his wings in the realm in-between, knowing that they would not fit and would provide a reliable means of transport.

Wasting no time, he unfurled his wings and took flight, going to where he knew Dean to be. No matter what he had seen in Heaven, it did not prepare him for the physical sensation Jimmy provided him – the heat of the starving flames as they ate away at the remains of the house and its inhabitants. To ease his worried mind, yet only causing himself more turmoil, he discovered that almost everyone Dean cared about was gone. Yet the small glimmer of hope that was Sam Winchester live on despite the Angel's lack of knowledge that his escape could not have been of his own free will.

Turning his back to the flames, he willed his Grace to find Dean, laying it out like an intricate web until he felt a tug that could only have been the Righteous Man.


	3. III

As Castiel flew to the clearing he knew Dean would emerge into he landed, concealing his wings and hoping that his vessel was adequate. While he could no more change his vessel than spare Dean this hardship he knew some forms were easier than others to accept. This was the intent of vessels to begin with – to make the transition for humans easier. Nothing was more mind shattering than attempting to register a being of pure celestial intent through the human psyche.

Castiel felt Dean before he saw him, the sound of his blood rushing through his veins and out of his wounds unsettling. As the Righteous Man came into view Castiel realized how much more overwhelming the sight of him in person was. Like all of God's creations and yet more so, Dean was beautiful. As green, pain darkened eyes met his ethereal blue ones he knew he needed to say something, anything to ease the hunter's terror addled mind.

"Hello Dean."

The hunter collapsed, his body succumbing to its need of rest and loss of blood. Not expecting this development and unsure how to proceed, Castiel decided to start with things within his ability to control. Moving to where the hunter lay, he gently grasped his uncovered left shoulder so as to not rouse him and allowed his Grace to flow freely through the sleeping man; Castiel made a mental assessment of damages. 'Three broken ribs, a minor concussion, smoke inhalation causing damage in both lungs, a ruptured kidney, a torn ligament in his right leg, the left arm is broken in two places with multiple lacerations all along his torso and abdomen as well as third degree burns on the inside of his right hand.'

Castiel allowed himself a small smile as he set about healing the worst of it. 'It may have been God's Will to put this man through so much, but he would not have survived it on his own.' Castiel focused on the major wounds, conserving his energies by leaving the superficial and non-life-threatening ones in a subconscious attempt to not alarm Dean. Heaven needed the Righteous Man alive and ready to fight, not in shock and dying.

"I did the right thing."

Castiel murmured those words aloud, reassuring himself as much as he was trying to prove a point. Upon completion all that remained was three bruised ribs, a sprained wrist, minor burns on his right hand and the lacerations – allowing his Grace to linger there so as to staunch the flow of blood before Dean treated them. Castiel did not know how long he had sat there, but he could hear the sound of the sun on the horizon signaling the day's start. Once again, the Angel found himself unsure how to proceed. It had been many years since his last visit to Earth – thousands if he was using the human calendar correctly – but he was familiar with humanity, his knowledge of their behavioral patterns and anatomy better than that of any high end doctor, scholar or historian. He had lived to see the birth of this world, spending much of his time watching over its inhabitants.

Kneeling down before man had come easily to him, his youth in comparison to his siblings giving him a closeness to man they were spared. He found them fascinating, beautiful, not unlike all of God's creations. As he reminisced in times of old Castiel failed to noticed the sleeping hunter stir despite his hand still gripping his shoulder, his body crouched down diagonally in front of him and yet his mind miles away.

As Dean pulled his conscious mind out of his sleep fog he slowly registered the pain he felt all over and a foreign pressure and heat on his left shoulder. His head was pounding his muscles screaming in protest to their brutal treatment from the night before. As he allowed his eyes to flutter open he tried to remember why he was in such rough shape, why he found himself lying with his face in the grass in the middle of the forest. Recollection came swiftly then, the fire and his escape unfurling at neck breaking speeds through his mind before he remembered passing out – the trench coat clad man with the startling eyes who _knew his fucking name_.

Before he jumped up, swirling his head around wildly to find the Tax Accountant wannabe from Hell his brain reminded him of the pressure he felt on his shoulder. 'That sonovabitch! He's hanging around to interrogate me; I won't give him the satisfaction.' Dean's mind took inventory on the weapons available to him, cursing internally when he realized that he had removed most of them before heading up to bed. The only one he could think of was the Demon Dagger, sheathed and tucked away…in the safety of his right boot. 'Well fuck.'

Castiel felt, quite suddenly, the muscles under his hand grow tense. Removing himself from beside the hunter he stood, slowly turning to face him as Dean – quick as his training had prepared him and as his injuries permitted – pulled out the Dagger and stabbed Castiel in the chest. The sensation of pain was dull, like an insect bite or a pin prick, but the gesture had caught the Angel off guard. Regardless, he did not know whether it registered on his features or not as he reached up and grasped the hilt with his right hand. The hunter watched in a terrified fascination as Castiel pulled the blade out and dropped it on the earthen floor beneath them.

"One monster down – hundreds more to go; what say you tell me what the hell you are, save us both some time."

Dean had regained his composure but inside he was panicking – that blade was iron, knocking off at least half a dozen monsters from the list. This _thing_ in front of him continued to regard him with a look of confused fascination, only succeeding in further unnerving him with its over saturated eyes.

"My name is Castiel."

"Yeah, that's nice – _what_ are you?"

"I am an Angel of the Lord."


	4. IV

"Get the Hell out of here. There's no such thing."

"This is your problem, Dean, you have no faith."

"Yeah? Well, Angels just don't exist."

"Demons exist, Hell exists. Isn't the logical conclusion that Angels and Heaven do as well?"

"Look, I'm not buying what you're selling. What are you really?"

"I told you-"

"Yeah, and I said you're a lying bag of dicks. God doesn't exist, Heaven doesn't exist and junkless, peace loving-"

"You would do well to show me some respect. I've saved your life once already; I can easily take it back."

Dean had been too busy with his own denial to notice that the self proclaimed Angel had closed the distance between them – his eyes practically luminescent with a dangerous intent. Remembering the fire, Dean kicked himself for allowing the Angel to take his mind away from what should have been priority number one. He turned his face away from the violently searching eyes, looking instead at the shiny black dress shoes peeking out from beneath the slightly too large pants.

"Why?"

"I don't understand your question."

"Why _did_ you save me if you really are what you say? Why?"

"Good things do happen, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, not in my experience."

"What is the matter?"

Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion; surely the Righteous Man would have more faith than this. Stepping closer still, he peered into his soul until he found the reason behind such hopeless words.

"You don't think you deserve to be saved."

Dean's silence reaffirmed Castiel's statement. Despite his vast knowledge Castiel had no idea how to comfort the broken man before him. Without any true feelings, no angel had ever needed condolences or softly spoken words. Using his vessel's touch associated memories; Castiel awkwardly raised his hand, causing Dean to flinch. Taking a few steps back in an attempt to distance himself from his own insecurities, Dean lashed out at the creature in front of him.

"Yeah, well how do I know you're even what you claimed to be? Where's the robe? How about the harp or your friggin' feathers?"

The Angel's brow furrowed once again as he spoke, his words hesitant as though he had to choose his words carefully. In all honestly it reminded Dean of talking to a foreigner, trying to pick words associated with what they were trying to convey; Every word came out heavy as if made of something more than air and noise.

"Your…preconceived notions of Angels are woefully inaccurate."

"So you don't have wings."

"I do."

"Then let's see them!"

Castiel's horror was not masked this time, it washing over his face with amazing speed and fluidity.

"You do not know what you're asking."

"Uh, yeah I do."

"N-"

"Fine, then what are you really? Since you don't have wings you clearly aren't an Angel."

Dean mentally patted himself on the back when the creature – Castiel's face contorted from fear to frustration. 'Now show me what you are so I can kill your sorry ass.' As he began to smirk silently his victory was decimated – Castiel's expression returned blank and he closed his eyes. Dean could feel the world around him shift and at first he saw nothing. It wasn't until his eyes wandered to the shadow of the now confirmed Angel in front of him that he realized his mistake. The shadow of Castiel's wings was massive – the wing span extending out at least 15ft per wing. In an odd way it was majestic, almost captivating that they existed and yet could not be seen. Dean would never admit that. The shadow disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Dean wondering what color they would be in the sunlight.

"This form is a vessel, Dean. My tru-"

"Wait, back up – there's someone in there? As in a possession?"

"Nothing so crude – James Novak is a devout man. He prayed to be of service and he was rewarded."

"You're saying he asked for this?"

"We cannot inhabit a body without certain…criteria to be met. They must be of a special bloodline and we must be invited in."

"So…like a T.V. Vampire with entering houses?"

"I…do not understand that reference."

Dean snorted. 'Leave it to an Angel to not know pop culture.' Realizing that after a minute Castiel was still staring expectantly at him; Dean cleared his throat and turned away.

"It's not important."

He turned then, back to the forest and the direction he saw smoke still billowing from. He had to test his legs to make sure that despite the fall they were still working. Ability confirmed, Dean began his long track back – he hadn't realized how far away he had made it until that moment.


	5. V

Castiel watched Dean retreat into the forest despite his wounds seeping blood, panicked.

"Dean."

The hunter kept walking. He knew it possibly was not his best idea, having his back open to attack from this Angel, but he needed to know he wasn't the last one left. He needed to know someone – anyone from their rag tag little family was alive. He also couldn't shake the feeling that Sam had been in the house. Dean picked up his pace while he tried not to think about it.

Castiel, silently following behind the Righteous Man, could hear the remnants of his Grace within the hunter fade away as they fought and failed against the sudden surge of new blood to the wounds.

"Dean."

Dean could feel the blood seeping down his body further saturating his already ruined clothes. He didn't care – what mattered right now was Sam. He needed to know if he was okay. He needed to know he wasn't all alone in this. Dean ignored the pain, ignored the Angel on his heels calling, demanding his attention. He just couldn't focus on that right now, if he did he would falter.

"Dean, listen to me-"

"You know what? You can suck it, chuckles."

"Dean, listen-"

"Fuck you."

Suddenly there he was, Castiel's blue eyes boring holes into his skull.

"Dean, listen to me. You will bleed out if you don't treat your wounds, you cannot continue like this."

"It doesn't matter."

"**Dean**-"

"Look, Sam is out there; Jo, Ellen and Bobby are out there. They need me and I'm going to be there. You can try and stop me but you'll have to kill me first. So wither get it over with or get the Hell out of the way."

Their eyes locked for a few minutes before Dean broke the connection, side stepping Castiel and continuing.

"Dean."

Frustrated and ready to send fists flying, Dean turns around and begins to respond only to have Castiel press two fingers to his forehead. His breath is all but sucked out of him as he feels the world shift and turn. The sudden change in location made Dean gasp a much needed breathe as he attempted to reorient himself. The instant his eyes fell upon the still smoldering skeleton of the house his heart fell and he knew.

Taking two steps forward before collapsing to his knees, Dean could not look away. 'It's gone.' He thought as he felt the world lose its meaning. 'They're all gone.' Suddenly, the hand was once more returned to his shoulder. Ripping his eyes from the carnage he once again found himself looking at Castiel.

"They are gone, Dean."

"Yeah, I got that."

"Not all hope is lost."

Rage boiled to the surface then, white hot and self righteous. Slapping away Castiel's hand Dean stood, flipping around so he was nose to nose with God's messenger.

"Not all hope is lost? Are you a fucking moron? Everything – everything has been taken from me. My home, my family, my brother; Sam is dead, Castiel. I'd say there's nothing left."

"Sam is alive."

"What did you just say to me?"

"Sam is alive, Dean."

"You'd better not be messing with me, Cass, or I swear –"

"I don't understand what you mean by 'messing with you', but I assure you that I am telling you the truth."

Dean held eye contact for a few minutes longer before stepping back. 'Sammy's alive.' Dean didn't know where or under what circumstances, but he got out. There was still hope.

"Dean, please allow me to heal you; your wounds are rather severe-"

He pulled away from the Angel's outstretched hand more violently than he had intended. Castiel, as if attempting to calm a frightened animal, held that hand palm open before finally letting it fall to his side.

"Dude, keep your hands off of me."

"De-"

"Stop saying my name like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you know me! Like we're best friends and we dance in fields of fucking flowers together."

"But I do know you, Dean."

Something in Dean snapped then, something that had long since been growing.

"Don't you **ever** claim you know me! You don't!"

The air grew suddenly cold as Castiel went from looking frail to downright menacing. Somehow despite his slight build he looked to be much larger than Dean.

"I am the one who gripped you tight and saved you from Perdition. Had I not been there when you collapsed you would have never risen to see today; I am the Angel God sent to save you and I have watched over you and your family far longer than you presume to know. I have looked at your soul and held it in my hands, Dean. Do not assume that our meeting now is our first and do** not** claim to know the extent of my knowledge of you."

Dean was, for all intents and purposes, shell shocked. Castiel made no move to touch him again and Dean made no further move to further the distance between them. The air was electrified between two, tense and somehow terrifying. Finally, Dean spoke, doing so more out of curiosity than anything else.

"So God sent you to help me?"

Castiel remembered then a Thursday many years ago, spying over a conversation between the Winchester brothers. Dean was trying to explain to Sam the importance of lying to keep their little family safe and to get the information they need to help them hunt the monsters.

"Sammy, what do we tell them when they ask why we're here?"

"That their painting is haunted and if they don't let us destroy it –"

"No, dude, just no!"

"I don't get it."

"You don't tell them the truth!"

"Why not?"

"Because A) They'll think we're two scoops of crazy. 2) It's as much about protecting them as it is us. Normal people don't have to know about monsters – their stupidity means they get to live long and happy lives."

Pulled out of his mental reverie, Castiel found Dean staring expectantly at him. Shifting his gaze to the right, not wanting to give himself away, he gave Dean his reply.

"Yes."


	6. VI

A week had passed and Dean had settled into yet another seedy motel. He'd been traveling from the instant he learned that God had supposedly sent someone to keep after him. Keeping his mind on the task ahead, Dean had called all of Sammy's phones, trying desperately to find him. When he recovered the third and final one he found that, like the last two, it had been a bust; either Sam did not want to be found or... Dean didn't want to think about the second possibility.  
What he couldn't help but notice was that annoying as Hell Angel that was following him around. He kept his distance, Dean could give him that, but no matter how far Dean went or where he traveled to he only had to survey the immediate area to find Castiel. It was possibly the creepiest thing Dean ever had to deal with. Now that his leads on his brother had all but run dry Dean reluctantly realized that he needed help and he had no one left to turn to. Well, almost no one.  
Grumbling while he grabbed his keys off the night stand, Dean went on a coffee run – buying two of everything with lots of cream and sugar on the side in case Castiel liked his coffee a certain way. If he liked it at all, that is. Realizing that he was contemplating about what coffee an _Angel_ preferred, Dean mentally scolded himself before getting out of the car and walking to the hotel door. Stopping short, Dean called out to his Angelic stalker.  
"Look, Cass, I know you're there; we really need to talk, so if you could kindly get your feathery ass over here and open this door I'd really appreciate it."  
"Cass?"  
Without warning Castiel appeared in Dean's peripheral vision causing him to nearly spill the cups all over himself. Turning to him, he caught himself almost smiling at the look of confusion on the Angel's face which was further accentuated by an ever so slight tilt of his head to the right.  
"Uh, yeah; you know, a nickname. Like Sam is for Samuel and Bobby is for Robert?"  
"Yes, I am aware. I am just…confused. Nicknames are customarily a sign of endearment or affection, you-"  
"Dude, you gotta _relax_. Your name is just a mouthful, that's it. I can go back to calling you feathers if-"  
"I do not mind."

Castiel did his best to hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he opened the door for Dean. The hunter finally trusted him – this was a good sign. Perhaps now he could rest his weary wings, flying around to follow Dean proved to be more tiring than he had anticipated; the speed of travel was drastically below his own. Castiel had noted the superfluous cup in Dean's holder by now, dismissing it as another human behavioral pattern he would never understand. That is until Dean took it out and held it out towards him.  
Confusion danced across his face as he tried to understand the gesture. Dean looked tense, almost…nervous? No, that wasn't quite right. Suddenly, the hunter cleared his throat while his eyes flitted to and from his face.  
"I uh…I didn't know what kind you liked so I just got it black. There's some creamer and stuff in the bag if you're into that kind of thing."  
Castiel still didn't understand as he just stood there and watched Dean as he squirmed in his seat. Finally, the Angel decided it would be best to try and accept the cup as an offering. Perhaps Dean was proposing an alliance? The hunter finally continued.  
"Right, well, uh…Could you just sit down?"  
The proper word finally clicked – uncomfortable. That's why Dean was acting tense and awkward. Thinking on the question, Castiel found himself nodding. It wasn't entirely an unreasonable request after all; it just wasn't something he wasn't accustomed to. Taking the seat adjacent to the Righteous Man, Castiel sat down awkwardly. Dean still seemed tense despite that, like Castiel's actions were not correct, which further confused the Angel.  
"Uh, you gonna drink that?"  
Castiel blinked at him a few times before turning his attention back to the forgotten coffee in his hands and then back to Dean.  
"Angels do not require sustenance, Dean."  
"Oh…Well, what about your vessel? James, right? He needs food sometimes."  
Now the Angel had to think on this a moment. While it was true that Castiel's presence inside of James did prevent him from feeling any discomfort or pain it did not change the fact that when Castiel left him he would have an empty stomach. Rationalizing, it couldn't _hurt_ for him to feed his vessel every once in a while. Leaning down to the cup in his hand, he took an experimental sniff before his nose crinkled involuntarily. Hearing a chuckle, he looked up to find Dean watching him intently with a crooked smile on his face.  
"You don't like it?"  
"It smells…unpleasant."  
"You're just like Sam, such a pussy. Here-"  
Dean reached into the bag then, pulling out two small packets and pouches. Ripping the tops off of the packets, he poured sugar into the cup before repeating the process with the packets. Dean even procured a miniature red utensil from the bag to stir the combined contents until Castiel could see the dark liquid cloud up and turn softer. Taking another experimental sniff when Dean leaned back away he noted that it did smell better. Leaning over and hesitantly reaching towards the bag, Castiel waited for Dean's nod to continue. He ended up with four sugar packets and six creamer shots before he smiled ever so slightly and hummed when he took sips.

Dean was half tempted to poke jabs at Castiel's obvious sweet tooth but thought better of it. The Angel seemed almost content being engrossed in sipping his coffee – which was more emotion than Dean had seen in him since day one. Clearing his throat to grab Cass's attention, Dean shifted in his seat before getting down to business.  
"Look, I've looked through everything, everywhere and followed every lead but Sam is just gone. You're the one who said he was still alive, so I really need-"  
"I have been searching as well."  
Dean waited for him to continue in vain, the Angel just staring at him over the top of his coffee cup.  
"And?"  
"I believe your brother is being held captive by Demons."  
Dean's blood ran cold. Sure, they'd hunted Demons all their lived so it made sense they would want revenge – the real question was why just Sam? Surely the Demons thought everyone else was dead, but Dean had killed far more than Sam. The idea of revenge seemed…off. Then Dean realized that there were a few things he hadn't even thought of questioning.  
"Why Demons?"  
"I don't understand the question."  
"Why are you so sure it's Demons?"  
"I cannot find him, Dean. Angels are inherently capable of finding anyone anywhere in the world and yet he is hidden from me. Only someone well versed in Enochian spells could do this and that is a language so forgotten that only Angels and Demons remember it."  
"Then who's to say-"  
"Angels follow God's Will absolutely; kidnapping Sam Winchester is not part of that."  
"Fine, then how can I find him?"  
"We will research and hunt, it appears to be the only option."  
"Whoa, 'we'?"  
"Yes Dean, I will accompany you."

Castiel mistook the look of gratitude for a look of protest, raising a hand to silence the hunter before continuing.  
"Dean, you are wounded and desperate. Do not make the mistake in assuming that your escape gave you an advantage."  
"Wait, wh-"  
"Did you ever stop to question _how_ the Demons found your family's home?"  
"Well-"  
"They placed a tracking device in your vehicle, Dean."  
"…What?"  
"While you and Jo were distracted vanquishing the Vampires they slipped the device under the body of your Impala."


	7. VII

"You mean to tell me that those sons of bitches _used me to kill my family_?"  
It was too late to take back what had been said, Castiel realized that the statement had done more harm than good. Not knowing what to say he gave a small nod while averting his eyes.  
"Fuck."  
"I have removed the device, Dean, but it was not until the first night you started looking for Sam. By now they must know _someone_ is out there."  
"Yeah, but-"  
"It would be unwise for you to continue by yourself."  
"Yeah? Well, I never was the smart one."  
"You are intelligent, Dean."

Dean finally turned his attention from the cup in his hands to the Angel in front of him. He was not about to have this conversation – they'd talked enough for one night. Setting aside the coffee he no longer had an appetite for, and pushed the bag of donuts across the table, Dean stood and moved to the bathroom. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him as he moved, grabbing spare clothes and a towel.  
"Look, I do need your help. I'm stuck up the river without a fucking boat, so if you're really willing to help I won't stop you. We've just got to lay down some rules."  
"Rules?"  
"Yeah, boundaries that should never be crossed."  
"I understand the term, Dean."  
"Good! Rule number one: When in the Impala, the driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole."  
"I don't-"  
"Yeah, yeah – you don't get it. You'll figure it out."

Castiel wasn't sure what to think of this turn of events as he nodded solemnly in reply. Dean snorted at him then, turning around and entering into the bathroom. The Angel took this opportunity to look around the room, take in his surroundings. Like the others Dean had stayed in over the years, this hotel room was a poor excuse for one; there were stains along the walls and on some of the blankets that did not require an imagination to figure out.  
He finished off his coffee then, the last grain filled bits not nearly as pleasant as the first few sips. Castiel noted the two twin sized beds in the room, wondering if Dean got them now out of habit than deliberate planning. He would have to explain to the hunter that he did not have any humanly needs at some point, perhaps when he returned.

Dean, closing the door behind him, sighed. He could already tell that this journey was going to be longer than necessary. If it wasn't bad enough that he had no idea where to start looking he had a feeling that an Angel walking amongst humans was going to be a full time babysitting gig. Maybe he deserved this frustration, though. His own reckless actions cost good hunters, good people their lives. In his heart, Dean knew he should have died in that fire.  
Shoving those thoughts deep into his subconscious, Dean stripped and started the water. As he caught a glimpse of his healing wounds in the mirror he turned to examine the ones on his back. He really needed to get some help patching them up – some were stitched crookedly while other were barely covered with bandages at all. Looking at it all a moment, Dean realized that he was going to have to ask eventually. Clearing his throat, he called out to his companion as he turned the water back off.  
"Hey Cass, could you come-"  
"Yes Dean?"  
He had been expecting the sudden appearance this time, a sound of fluttering wings echoing through the room to signal the Angel's appearance. Dean watched in silence as Castiel's eyes flicked across his back, assessing the damage. The hunter stood very still, waiting for Cass to offer. Instead, the Angel gingerly reached out as if to touch him only to have Dean flinch away.  
"You need to be treated, Dean. These wounds are infected and you've lost a lot of blood from them."  
"I know, just…not your way."  
"What do you mean?"  
"You healed me before, right? Used your Angel mojo to magic my pain away."  
"In a sense, I suppose."  
"I don't want that, Cass. I need to heal these on my own, I need…"  
"You want to scars to remind you."  
"No matter how this plays out, I don't want to forget my mistake."  
"Dean, it wasn't-"  
"Don't. Just **don't**. Will you help me or am I gonna lose more blood?"

Castiel knew the Righteous Man needed this somehow, no matter how irrational or impractical it seemed. This was something he could not deny him. Silently, the Angel nodded.  
"I will need supplies."  
"I'll get 'em, just wait. Here."  
Castiel nodded slowly as Dean exited the dingy room. Taking in his surroundings once more, he noticed the tobacco stained walls, the faint smell of cheap perfume and the lingering outlines of watermarks cleaned with bleach. When the hunter returned to the room, alcohol and pseudo first aid supplies in tow, Castiel shuffled out of the way.  
"Do you know what you're doing?"  
Dean was looking him in the eyes through the mirror then, his hands busy arranging tools on the countertop.  
"Dean, I have seen your family and millions of others-"  
"Have you done it before?"  
"No."  
As if in reply Dean took a swig of the alcohol before straddling the toilet. Cracking his neck, he took another swig and replaced the top.  
"Let's get this over with."  
Castiel removed the trench coat and suit jacket in favor of not having to use his powers to clean them later. With a gentle precision he rolled up his sleeves then removed the current wrappings that were fresh but already saturated. Just one look and he knew it was bad. Blood was steadily oozing out of the larger cuts, the smaller ones an angry pink with pus discolored scabs. Even the ones Dean had managed to stitch seemed infected; others appeared to have remaining shards of glass within.  
"Dean-"  
"Just…do it."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes."  
Reaching over, Castiel plucked the smallest knife of the group. Gently he set one hand on Dean's back, causing him to flinch. The Angel willed his Grace to flow gently through Dean's back, sending a feeling of ease as he began to remove the original stitches. Afterwards he slowly cut open the inflamed flesh in order to flush the infection out. Blood and pus trickled down the hunter's back as Castiel replaced the blade and grabbed the bottle. Before pouring the Angel realized it would be a waste if he did not get the pus out first. Thinking on it a moment, he manipulated his Grace once more, forcing all the foreign liquids out.  
"Fuck, Cass, I said-"  
"I am not healing you, Dean. The infection is deeply rooted, if I do not force it out it will get worse. We are doing this your way but on my terms. Now sit still, the glass will cause discomfort otherwise."  
Dean's silence ensured, Castiel focused once more on the shards to make positive they all came out. He could hear the hunter's breath become slightly labored as they made their way through the already raw flesh. Moving before thinking he placed the bottle to Dean's lips.  
"Drink."  
Castiel had not expected for Dean to oblige, but was pleasantly surprised when he did. He watched the glass surface and drop to the floor before pulling the bottle away and immediately pouring the contents over the wounds on the hunter's back.  
"**Fuck!** A warning would have been nice!"  
"Would it have changed anything?"  
Dean clutched the top of the toilet instead of responding. Castiel poured over them a couple more times before handing the remainder to Dean, reaching for the sterilized needle and spool of fishing line. Swiftly and precisely Castiel sewed the wounds shut. Eying over his handiwork one last time he replace the supplies before grabbing the bactine and applying it as well. Finally, he re-bandaged the Righteous Man and stepped back.

As Dean stood the silence of the room became almost stifling as though in anticipation. He did not turn his eyes to meet Castiel's, feeling the weight of them boring down on him from behind. Instead, he clenched his fists at his sides and spoke in hushed tones.  
"Thanks Cass."  
"You do not need to-"  
"Just…Thank you. For everything."  
"Always."


	8. VIII

The night was spent in silence until Dean decided it was time to turn in.  
"I'm…off to bed. Make yourself at home, tomorrow we ride."  
"Very well."  
As Dean moved around the room, moving off of his bed and going to turn off his light, he felt the presence of someone staring. Turning to face the Angel, Dean found Castiel still standing beside the bed watching him intently. Slightly weirded out but trying not to let it show, Dean shrugged and continued. Yet still he felt the uncomfortable tingle of at the back of his neck. Finally fed up he flipped around to say something only to find Castiel sitting awkwardly on the side of his bed facing Dean.  
"You don't plan on doing that all night, do you?"  
"Yes."  
"Cass, you can't just watch another guy sleeping!"  
"Why not?"  
"Because it's **creepy**, for one!"  
"I don't –"  
"No, Dude, seriously. If I wake up to you staring at me I _will_ kick your ass."  
"Then perhaps I should leave-"  
"That's not an option. We work together, you stay in the room. That's non-negotiable. Just…watch TV or something. Try sleeping-"  
"Angels cannot sleep."  
"Just cause you don't doesn't mean-"  
"We can't, not unless we are near death or severely weakened."  
"Oh…that sucks...Can you at least dream?"  
A wistful smile graced the Angel's lips then, his eyes far off for only a second before he snapped back to the present. Dean resisted the urge to ask, it wasn't for him to know.  
"No, Angels do not dream. We can enter a human's dream, manipulate or become a part of it, but we cannot create our own."  
"So, if I'm dreaming about…pie you could just saunter into my dream and share one with me?"  
"Yes."  
"That's _really_ creepy, Dude. Have you ever…you know, done it before?"

The question threw Castiel off, he now found himself torn between the truth and falsehood. Yes, he had dream walked before, but only in Dean's dreams. When he was younger he had nightmares about his mother's death and his father just leaving him somewhere. In those instances, the Angel took the form his subconscious needed most and would comfort him until the dream was over. It had been a long time since Castiel had, but it seemed somehow wrong to bring it up now. Against his better judgment, he decided the truth was the best path to take.  
"Yes."  
"What was it like?"  
Perhaps a half truth with omissions was best.  
"They were nightmares."  
"Oh…Well, have you tried again since?"  
"Recently, no."  
"Uh huh…Well, just so you know – Rule #2: No rooting through my head without an invitation. That shit is creepy and weird."  
"Understood."  
By now Dean was down to his T-shirt and boxer briefs as he slipped under the covers and turned off his light. As the hunter turned away from him Castiel heard his voice, faint and gruff, whisper, "G'night, Cass."  
"Sleep well, Dean."  
As Dean's breath evened out Castiel began to process the data from the last 24hrs. He had finally made progress; Dean was asking questions and listening to the answers. The only question now was how long would it take for them to find Sam. Heaven had to know of his absence by now, had to know who he was with and yet the Angelic Communication Link was silent. That's when it hit him – _the link was silent_. Reaching out and desperately searching for his siblings voices he only found silence.  
This could only mean one thing – this he knew. They needed to find Sam. Only the sound of Dean thrashing in the bed beside him pulled him from his mental reverie. One look and he knew Dean was having a nightmare. Moving to one side of the man's bed, Castiel had a seat near one of the pillows. He had promised Dean he would not 'root through his mind'; perhaps in the morning he would suggest an exception to the rule – in the case of danger or emergency. Keeping to his word, Castiel used his Grace to reach out and send a wave of comfort to wash over the sleeping hunter. At first he resisted, his thrashing subdued while his expression turned grave. With a little patience on the Angel's part Dean finally calmed, his face relaxing into a look of serenity.  
Castiel waited in his spot until he felt Dean begin to wake, hours having passed while he simply watched the world outside the window. Before Dean could be awake enough to see him he moved back to his own bed, taking care to face the room rather than Dean.

As Dean came to from possibly the best sleep he'd had all week the first thing he did was look for the Angel. 'That sonovabitch had better not-' His train of thought was cut off when he found Castiel in the same place he was when he had fallen asleep, facing a blank TV screen with an equally blank stare. As if on cue the Angel turned to address him.  
"Hello Dean."  
Castiel slowly turned to Dean then, his face a mask of innocent curiosity.  
"What were you dreaming about?"  
"Were you staring at the blank TV all night?"  
There was a brief pause.  
"Yes."  
"Dude, you gotta turn it on before watching it."  
"Turn it on?"  
"You, hit the button. It's a lot more entertaining to watch."  
"How hard do I 'hit the button'?"  
"Not – I meant push it! Like this."  
Adjusting himself into a more comfortable sitting position, Dean snatched the remote from the bedside table and flicked on the TV. Getting up and showing the Angel the controls, he began to explain how to use it.  
"Look, this is on and off. These control the channels and this is the volume control – you know, loud and quiet. Enjoy."  
Turning to the bathroom he dropped the remote into the Angel's hands.  
"Dean, what about –"  
"Dude, I need a shower and some food before I am a functioning member of society."  
"I don't –"  
"It's a human thing."  
"Understood."  
The Angel turned to the over dramatic soap opera on the screen before hitting the channel button. 'Thank fucking God.' Dean thought as he stripped off his shirt and closed the door behind him. 'I don't think I could take him liking girly shit.' Turning his back to the mirror he admired Castiel's handiwork for the first time. There was no stitch out of place, even the harder to close wounds covered with carefully placed and intricately designed stitches. The cuts looked agitated but definitely better than the night before. Nodding his approval he stripped his last bit of clothing before turning on the shower and getting in.

Castiel heard the water start as he continued his search through the channels. The way the people acted on the initial channel had grated on his nerves, Cass did not wish to continue watching.  
"Are you troubled by strange noises in the middle of the night?"  
Castiel was startled by the straight forward manner of the question, his hand stilled on the remote as he watched the man step back into the line with the others while the person to his left stepped forward.  
"Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic?"  
That man stepped back then, the man on the far left of the screen stepping forward and beginning to talk while the scene switched to a woman in her living room.  
"Have you or any of your family seen a spook, specter or ghost?"  
Woman set down her groceries while the man in the middle continued where the other left off.  
"If the answer is yes, then don't wait another minute! Pick up your phone and call the professionals."  
The scene switched back to the TV where all three men stepped forward.  
"Ghostbusters."  
Castiel began to lean forward, his interest in the remote completely lost as he watched the woman remove her bag as she continued to watch her screen.  
"Our courteous and efficient staff is on call 24hrs a day to serve all of your supernatural elimination needs."  
The scene showed the screen once more where the three men were lined up much closer to the screen, obviously trying to go for an effect of some kind. The poor attempt at talking in unison is not lost on Castiel as most of the show is. They smile and point at the camera.  
"We're ready to believe you!"  
Castiel's face mirrored the woman's as he continued to watch this new show with interests piqued.

Dean walked out of the bathroom to the sound of Ray Charles Jr. and a siren. Walking until he stood beside Castiel, his suspicions were confirmed.  
"Ghostbusters, huh?"  
Castiel jumped in his seat, wide eyes turned to Dean in wonder.  
"Your family should have invested in a Proton Pack – they appear to be quite effective."  
It took everything Dean had not to flat out laugh in his face. Chocking back a smile, the hunter tried to remain as normal as possible.  
"Cass, it's just TV. They aren't real."  
Castiel's brow furrowed in contemplation; somehow it made Dean feel like he was telling a 5yr old that Santa didn't exist.  
"The Ghostbusters don't really hunt ghosts?"  
"They don't exist – just actors playing roles someone wrote for them."  
"Oh."  
Castiel turned back to the TV, watching for a few more moments before shutting it off. Dean really felt like a bad person then, despite the idea that it should have been obvious.  
"You okay?"  
The Angel seemed surprised that he had asked, but Dean couldn't blame him. He wasn't exactly nice to his Angelic companion. A small smile spread across his face then, a gentle twinkle in his blue eyes.  
"Yes."


	9. IX

Two weeks had passed with Dean's stitches out with only fading pink scars in their place. As the weeks drew on Dean got to witness firsthand the raw power and ability Castiel possessed. To quote Castiel in one of their more recent fights, "I am a warrior, Dean. I was not created to be a Peace Keeper, a Relief Worker. I am a Servant of God – I do not serve man and I do not take orders from you." Like most of their arguments, the Angel won that one. Following the signs of Demons they'd traveled cross country to Nevada before the trail ran cold again.  
Dean was getting more frustrated by the minute, the smallest annoyance quickly blown out of proportion. As he paced the room Castiel remained seated on his bed for the evening, fidgeting while he sat in silence. As the hunter watched his fingers continue to smooth nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric of his trench coat he finally exploded yet again.  
"Stop **doing** that!"

Castiel was startled; he had noticed he was doing anything. He hadn't even been staring at Dean, just staring at his now scuffed shoes.  
"What?"  
"Stop…fidgeting. It's annoying."

The Angel looked at his hands then, his expression horrified. It took Dean a moment to realize that this was the first time he had seen Castiel do something so…_human_.  
"My apologies."  
"N-no, it's fine."

Castiel has realized that night two weeks ago that Heaven had, as Dean would say, 'cut him off'. From that moment on he tried to conserve his powers, growing more and more conscious of his slowly dwindling Grace. He knew he should turn to someone, ask for help, but all he had was Dean and Dean was already dealing with so much. He didn't need this too.  
"Hey, are you…are you okay?"  
"Hmm?"  
"You don't usually…fidget."  
"I am fine."  
"You sure?"  
"Yes."  
A series of Demon warning signs appeared over night, effectively ending Dean's curiosity of the matter. They traveled to Seattle with haste, barely stopping for anything. Dean insisted on getting there before the Demons 'split', yet another term Castiel struggled to comprehend. Speaking was much easier two thousand years ago, back when slang did not exist and words had one meaning. They stopped in Bend, Washington for the night only to continue four hours later. Castiel tried to talk Dean out of it, seeing the exhaustion on his face, but there was no reason with him. The feverish way he hunted only became more drastic as time passed.  
"Cass, they have Sam. I don't know what they're doing to him or why and I can't leave him alone out there. I can rest when I'm dead."  
Castiel never brought it up again. It took two days to track down and trap the demon; his cold, calculating eyes twinkled with amusement as Dean attempted to get information out of him. He used chants, salt, holy water – everything he had learned hurt them to no avail. Just as Dean began to lose his patience Castiel stepped forward.  
"Allow me."  
"I've got this."  
"Dean, you know I would not offer if I did not believe I could help."  
The Demon took this moment to interject.  
"Yeah, give the scrawny one a chance! I'm sure that if his puny arms don't break when trying to lift-"  
"I'm an Angel, you ass."

Dean chuckled inwardly – he was particularly proud of how Cass was picking up 'human words'. Looking at the Demon, he could see that the color had drained from his face. Dean had to admit he was impressed; they hadn't really bothered telling the Demons before – just had Cass do his thing at the end with the lights. This could be useful.  
"You know what? Go ahead, Cass. Have a field day."

The Demon attempted to speak only to have Castiel make a sweeping hand gesture and its voice automatically go silent. Panic spread over its face as it struggled against its bindings in a frenzy to beg for its life. Ignoring it, Castiel turned back to Dean.  
"Please leave the room."  
"Wait, what?"  
"What I will do is not something a human should see."  
"Dude, I'll be fine."  
"I may have to use my true form-"  
The Demon stilled in silent terror.  
"- which would cause your eyes to burn out of your skull. I need you to leave the room."  
"That bad, huh?"  
"I don't understand that reference."  
"It's – never mind."

Dean left the room, shutting the door behind him at Castiel's insistence. He waited outside of that room for 15 minutes and saw two flashes of light beneath the door before Castiel came out. His sleeves were rolled up, his hands caked in fresh blood.  
"Your brother is currently in Vermont, they will be moving him in 6hrs."  
"Are you sure?"  
"He was not lying."  
Castiel finally turned to him then, the yellow light of the building exaggerating the haggard appearance of the Angel. Even his eyes seemed dim compared to their first encounter. A low grumble echoed between them then, cutting the tension and making Dean jump by the suddenness.  
"Dude…Did your stomach just _growl_?"  
"I…do not know what you mean."  
"Oh, don't pull that crap! I **know** you heard it."  
"We are closing in on Sam, we should-"  
"Don't change the subject! What is going _on_ with you?"  
"I am tired – the Demon took more out of me than I had anticipated."  
"That's bullshit-"  
"Let us return to the room."  
"Cass-"  
"Please."  
The Angel looked so exhausted; Dean may have been stubborn but he couldn't push this. Nodding, they turned and left. The drive back to the room was silent as Castiel stared out the window and Dean stole glances at him. Sure, he had noticed that the Angel's stubble had grown darker, more pronounced. He even had dark circles, but Dean hadn't thought much on it. Despite the way Cass acted, Dean often forgot he wasn't human.

As they neared the hotel Castiel decided it was time he told Dean the truth – the whole truth. He was getting weaker with each passing day; he almost couldn't vanquish the Demon a few minutes ago. He couldn't risk not telling Dean anymore, not when this quest had so much depending on him. He decided it was prudent to wait until they entered their shared room, Dean sitting down on his bed while he began removing his boots.  
"Dean."  
The hunter turned to him, poorly masked concern just beneath the surface. Castiel's chest lurched in a painful way, despite that he continued.  
"We need to talk."


	10. X

"Cass?"  
"Dean, let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything."  
It took hours, getting from the beginning to where they stood three weeks ago. Dean had to stop Castiel five times to properly hydrate him when his voice began to die. Dean knew this was important, knew that if he didn't listen now there wouldn't be another chance.  
"Dean, I've lied to you. When you asked if God sent me – I lied. He wanted you to do this alone, He wanted you to become the man you are supposed to be without aid – But you're just a man! And as an Angel I was foolish, I thought I knew better. I took his plan and I ripped it up – I just –"  
"As an Angel?"  
"Yes."  
"Cass, you're still-"  
"I'm **not** an Angel anymore, Dean. I do not know what I am but I am not the celestial being you thought me to be. Not anymore."  
"What do you mean?"  
"They have eradicated my connection to Heaven, Dean."  
"They cut you off? So what, how does that –"  
"It's more than that."  
"Then **what**? Please, explain it to me."  
"Angels are connected to Heaven directly by their Grace. An Angel's Grace is used when fighting, flying or anything that requires power."  
"Like a battery."  
"Of sorts. In order to sustain their own Grace, all Angels are tethered to Heaven by an ethereal link. When that link is severed their Grace weakens with use until it is completely extinguished."  
"Yeah, so what? Worst case scenario-"  
"I die, Dean."  
Somewhere inside of him, Dean had known that was what Castiel was about to say and yet he had hoped that was not the case. He had foolishly thought that without his powers the Angel would become human. 'And then what, genius? We'd have a fucking parade, throw some confetti? Yeah,right.'  
"Why?"  
"My Grace is similar to your soul; the difference between the two is that a human can, for all intents and purposes, function without theirs. Humans do not rely on their soul as Angels do their Grace. Without my link I will slowly deplete my Grace until I extinguish it and cease to exist."  
"Won't you just go back to Heaven when you die?"  
"When an Angel dies, Dean, they don't go anywhere."  
"Then just stop using your powers!"  
"It is not that simple."  
"How complicated can it be?"  
"Existing in this plain drains me. Simply occupying this vessel uses Grace. Not using it is not possible."  
"Then go back to recharge!"  
"Do you think me a fool? I have already tried – like my link it is beyond my reach. I am 'cut off' completely."

Castiel watched as Dean began to pace, becoming more frustrated and upset by the minute. He knew the hunter would be agitated, knew this would affect him. The concern ebbing from his soul, however, was not expected. 'We have made such progress in two weeks; if only I had more time!'  
"_This_ is my punishment for disobeying God, a fate worse than death in a realm as hostile as it is beautiful. I will die a creature below the lowest life form and my passing will mean nothing."  
Dean rushed at Castiel then, fury boiling to the surface as he grabbed the lapels of his coat and dragged him inches away from his own face. Cass could feel the heat of his breath on his face, the specks of brown in his emerald eyes – the very eyes he could not remove his own from.  
"Don't you **ever** say that, Cass. You're not gonna die – don't you ever say that."  
"Everything dies-"  
"Shut up! You're not dying – not on my watch."  
"Why are you fighting this so hard?"  
"Because you forced your way into this and I'll be damned before I let you just saunter right back out. How long do we have?"  
"I don't-"  
"No powers, playing human – how long?"  
"A year at most."  
"That's plenty of time."  
Dean released him, leaning back a little bit but still in his 'personal space'. Castiel had no idea what to think.  
"We find Sam and go from there; he'll know what to do, he always does."  
"Dean, it's almost been a month and we still have nothing. What makes you think-"  
"It's been three weeks and we've got a lead."  
"Yes, **with** the usage of my powers! What makes you think-"  
"Cass, we will find Sam. You're gonna survive this. For an Angel you could really use some faith."

In the morning Dean took Castiel clothes shopping for the first time, which turned out to be as fun as electroshock therapy. In the end they ended up with five new outfits – two cheap suits, two outfits Dean deemed 'Hippy Gear' and a pair of blue jeans with a plain black T-shirt. Carefully folding them into his new duffel, Castiel placed it in the trunk with Deans before they made their way to Vermont.  
As expected the demons were long gone leaving wreckage and mayhem in their wake. Dean was losing face as their search continued to bear no fruit, Castiel having left hope behind in the last hotel room. When they both decided to turn in, the lights off while they waited for sleep, Castiel turned to face Dean.  
"Dean."  
"Yeah Cass?"  
"Why are you so desperate to save me?"  
"You're my friend."  
"Friend?"

Dean turned to him then, his eyes falling on the silhouette of his companion. He couldn't see them, but he felt the Angel's eyes on him.  
"Yeah, friend."  
"Oh."  
"What, you didn't think we were?"  
"I had not realized I held any importance to you."  
"Dude, you saved my life – multiple times. You rebelled for a guy you'd never met, you've been helping me find my brother when I had no one else who could or would. Do I really have to pull a chick flick moment with you?"  
"A 'chick flick moment'?"

Castiel heard Dean sigh heavily, a sound soon followed by movement on his adjacent bed. The Angel froze as he watched the hunter's shape stand and slowly make his way over. Nerves turned to confusion when Dean lifted the covers and began to nudge him over.  
"Scoot, man; lemme in."  
Castiel wordlessly obliged, making room for the larger man on his twin sized bed. Dean was warm against him, his hands seeking Cass out before pulling him flush against his chest. The Righteous Man stroked Castiel's hair tenderly as he whispered to him.  
"You're the closest thing I have to family left, Cass. I need you and finding Sam won't change that."  
"Do you mean it?"  
The words escaped him before the thought had formed in his mind. He felt Dean chuckle under his cheek, the movement somehow as relaxing as the hand carding through his hair and while the other protectively rested on his back. Castiel slowly worked his hands up from his sides to rest beside his face on the larger man's chest. Somehow the whole situation made him feel like the child he never was, seeking comfort in someone stronger than himself.  
"Yeah; we're gonna survive this, Cass. All of us."  
"I believe you."  
Castiel meant every word.


	11. XI

Dean woke to the feeling of being tucked in warm. It took a few minutes of sleep addled bliss before he noticed that he was completely alone. Sitting up with a start, his eyes flew around the room for a sign – anything to tell him where the Angel had gone while his mind went a mile a minute with fresh accusations. 'That sonovabitch! I trusted him, I leaned on him and I listened to him and now he just up and –' His thoughts were cut off when he saw the light under the bathroom door, noticing the sound of heavy breathing at last.  
'That's weird.' Dean slowly rose from the bed, taking care to not make noise as he approached the door.  
"Cass?"  
He was right next to the door then, he heard the gasp from within. Resting his hand gently on the door knob, he tried again.  
"You okay in there?"  
Only silence greeted him, making him more nervous as he turned the handle.  
"Cass?"  
As he opened the door he found the Angel immediately – his body almost curled in on itself while he sat fully clothed in the bathtub. Red rimmed, terror filled eyes met Dean's as he stood frozen in the doorway. Dean could see the tremors that threatened to tear the smaller man apart, the way he cowered from the very shadows surrounding him and how he hugged his shirt close to himself.  
"Dean."  
The voice was so small, so frail that for a second Dean believed he had made it up. Something had to be wrong. The hunter moved then, cautiously closing the distance between them before perching himself on the edge of the tub.  
"Dean, they were gone and I was flying but then I fell and you were not there and I kept falling and-"  
"Cass, what are you talking about?"  
"They were gone and I was-"  
"Cass, who was gone?"  
"My wings."  
A pit opened up in Dean's stomach threatening to swallow him whole. He should have known this would happen.  
"Are you sure they're gone?"  
"They were, but when my eyes opened I checked and they were back. What if they disappear again?"  
Relief washed through Dean as he realized what was happening. Sighing, he pulled the scared man beside him into a hug. Pulling away after the tremors stopped, Dean looked Castiel in the eye with a smile.  
"It was just a bad dream."  
"A…bad dream?"  
"Yeah, a nightmare."  
"But it felt so real…"  
Dean stroked Castiel's hair, wiping the sweat covered strands from his furrowed brow.  
"I don't like them."  
"No one does."

What started out of impulse soon became habit as they continued the journey. Every night Dean would wake to a terrified Angel at his side with his face buried in the crook of his arm. Dean would then make room for him and offer to share. Eventually he gave up buying rooms with beds altogether, just had Castiel wait in the Impala while he paid. More than anything this development reminded him of Sam from when they were kids.  
Sam had been five when their father had been ripped to shreds by Hell Hounds right before their eyes. They had gone to live with Bobby and Ellen then. Their adoptive parents did their best to raise and protect them, but Sam always went to Dean when he had bad dreams. Looking at Castiel, sitting across the room pouring over old maps, Dean remembered him mentioning Angels not dreaming. It didn't take long for him to put the two together and when he did he was livid.  
"Cass."

Castiel flinched at the tone of Dean's voice, both accusing and angry. Not sure what was going on but dreading it he slowly lifted his head in acknowledgement.  
"Yes, Dean?"  
"I want you to show me your wings again."  
A silent panic settled in him then, his body freezing in place while his eyes stared at Dean in horror. 'How did he…'  
"Dean-"  
"No excuses – show me."  
"Bu-"  
"Now."

If Dean could take it back, he would. As the lights began to flicker and the room darken he saw the silhouette of tattered and degrading wings behind Castiel – if anyone could really call them wings at this point. Looking at his companion's face, he saw the pain now more clearly than before.  
"When were you going to tell me?"  
"Never."  
His voice was no higher than a whisper.  
"You can't fly anymore, can you?"  
Castiel's silence was enough of an answer. Dean leaned gently forward then, his hands brushing against the place where his wings would be. He hadn't been expecting the electric feeling of static shock but he didn't move – didn't want to further himself when he felt so close.

Castiel felt Dean's fingers somehow. The gap between realms and reality didn't seem to factor in, only the warmth and security that was Dean's fingertips. The feeling of his fingers carding through the collective feathers of his wings was as pleasant as it was electrifying. The Angel couldn't imagine how much better it would feel if they weren't in such a state of disrepair.  
"The first time I asked for you to show me, why were you so against it?"  
The question threw Castiel off, pulling him from the comfort of his mental reverie, but there was no reason to keep it secret.  
"Do you remember what I said about my true form?"  
"Yeah, something about burning out eyes, right?"  
"Yes. I have never heard of an Angel revealing only part of themselves to a human before. I was…afraid for you."  
"Oh."

The Righteous Man continued to stroke the almost there feathers lightly with his finger tips – still not sure if they were even really there at all.  
"So it's not….some kind of creepy, Angel sex thing, is it? You guys don't like hide your wings until mating season, right?"  
"No, it is not and we do not."  
"Good, good."  
Dean felt flakes of dead skin brush off under his nails, but he didn't want to risk removing his hands to inspect it only to have the wings gone when he went to return his hands in place. A thought crossed his mind then, one that seemed harmless enough.  
"How do you keep them clean?"  
"Customarily our Grace."  
"Without it?"  
"I…do not believe there is a need to. If I do not use my powers I do not fly nor do I manifest them as I am now. Therefore they linger in a state of nonexistence that requires no routine maintenance."  
"Humor me."  
"Grooming, I suppose."  
"Like a bird?"  
"Yes."  
The topic over, Dean removed his hand from Castiel's wing before collecting his Angel and brought him to the bed. The following day Dean had an idea growing slowly. Going to the local pet shop when he went for a coffee run, he asked the cute sales clerk everything she knew about grooming a bird's wings. He jotted down what notes he could, giving playful smiles to encourage her to flaunt any and everything she knew, before heading back to the joint hotel room.

Castiel was looking at the map again when Dean returned, the easy smile on his face confusing the Angel slightly – he was not accustomed to it. Setting aside his work he gave the hunter his undivided attention.  
"Hey Cass."  
"Hello Dean."  
"I haven't showed you how to use the shower yet, right?"  
"No, you have not."  
"And your wings, they haven't been cleaned in a while, right?"  
Castiel couldn't explain the feeling welling inside of him, but the urge to defend himself was overwhelming. He crossed his arms while averting his eyes from the man before him.  
"I have not had occasion, okay?"  
"Dude, don't get defensive – I'm offering to help."  
Unadulterated horror struck his face then as his eyes snapped back to Dean. The hunter couldn't be asking that. The mere idea was something Castiel had never entertained, would never entertain. He would not sully the hands of the Righteous Man any further than he already had the previous evening.  
"No."  
Castiel's voice came out more forceful than intended, but it got the point across.  
"What? Wait, can't we just-"  
"There's nothing to discuss – my answer is no."

Dean knew the tone from Sam, there was no point in trying. Conceding defeat, he offered Castiel a towel and gave him a run down on how to work the shower. The subject was effectively dropped.


	12. XII

Two days passed after the feather incident, as Dean had come to call it, before they chanced upon and swiftly trapped a demon. Dean was desperate – the second month since Sam's disappearance was close on the horizon. He had read books on torture, captivity and demons – he knew the odds of Sammy making it out of this all alive and unscathed. Still, despite the panic they instilled in him they provided ideas for information recovery. Hooking up an IV to the demon before them, Dean smiled wickedly. This was going to be fun.  
"Now, tell me where Sam is before I pump your vessel's veins full of Holy Water."

Castiel, under normal circumstances, would have been impressed with Dean's ingenuity. These weren't by any definition normal and this development twisted his stomach into knots of worry. This wasn't like him, not like Dean at all. It was effective but at what cost? Castiel looked at the Demon then, terrified but not as much as the other had been when it discovered he was an Angel. For now it would have to do.  
"You wouldn't dare!"  
Dean shrugged, his face unreadable as he moved to the drip and started it. Within a minute the Demon was howling in pain, its veins bulging from the strain of Holy Water working its way in. Internally Castiel shivered when he turned to Dean and saw nothing. Regret was nothing new to the slowly falling Angel yet it still felt like just another symptom. 'I should have never told him…' He had lied to Dean yet again, in an attempt to ease his troubled mind. They didn't have a year, not with the damage using his powers had already caused. They would be lucky if he got half a year.  
It took two hours and the addition of Iron Acupuncture Needles before they got the information they desired. A Demon named Crowley had Sam and he had plans that promised the downfall of Heaven. The Demon knew no more than that, they were certain. Castiel was relieved to find Dean glad the host was alive. 'Perhaps he is not as far gone as I feared.' They dropped the unconscious woman at the nearest ER station before returning to the hotel.  
"So, we finally have a name. What good is it?"  
"Dean, we can summon him and –"  
"No."  
"But Dean-"  
"If we do that who's to say he doesn't have a backup plan? Or what if they kill Sam in retaliation? I'm not risking it."  
Castiel hadn't thought of that. Looking over to their marked up map an idea came to him suddenly.  
"I need you to go on a supply run."  
"Wait, what? Didn't you just hear me-"  
"I have another idea."  
Castiel grabbed the complementary stationary and scribbled a few items onto it before handing it to Dean.  
"They have to be fresh."  
"You gonna explain what the plan is?"  
"I have to be certain it works first, now go! The stores will be closing and we should do this soon."  
Nodding, Dean looked over the list before looking back at Castiel.  
"Your handwriting looks like you write with a feather pen."  
"The last time I was on Earth was two thousand years ago, Dean. I did, at one point, write with a quill pen."  
"Huh."  
Dean left then, giving Castiel time to acquire the final and main ingredient. Pulling out the Angelic Blade he always kept on his person, he pulled down his pants to slice an inconspicuous place. Placing the blade at his inner thigh, he made a small incision that glowed white hot and ached. Using a vial that he procured from Dean's satchel, he allowed his Grace to fill it before healing himself. Calculating in his head, he now had about three months left with Dean. He wasn't as scared of dying as he knew he should have been, more worried for Dean than anything.  
The hunter would be livid, that he knew. Perhaps someday he would come to forgive him, but Castiel would not be there to see that. That thought made him sadder than he had expected. The last month had been hard on them both; the undeniable knowledge that Sam was somewhere suffering tortured Dean while he had the added weight of a dying Angel needing him. Castiel hugged himself, the feel of the scratchy blue material between his fingers not even slightly comforting. He couldn't ask for Dean's support and yet he never had to. Dean was always there, closer than anyone and yet not close enough. Castiel hated this, hated being human, hated feeling anything in general.  
All it did was confuse him and cloud his judgment. It made him doubt – something no Angel should ever experience. If he ever went back, if he redeemed himself in Heaven's eyes, no other Angel would be able to understand him. He would be totally and utterly alone. Somehow death by comparison seemed the gentler fate.

Dean didn't like leaving Castiel alone. Cass had explained the circumstances of his leaving Heaven behind, but somehow Dean had a feeling it wasn't that simple. With his life it never was. Gripping the wheel so tight it made his wrist hurt, he continued to drive faster still. Something about this run felt bad, like when Castiel lied to protect him.  
When he arrived at the room he was relieved to find Castiel sitting on the bed watching TV. Walking around to face it, it took Dean a second to realize exactly what it was. Not that he was proud of this particular jewel of knowledge.  
"The Last Unicorn, really?"  
Solemn blue eyes turned to him then, filled to the brim with words he would never want to hear nor would he. Raising the grocery bag in his right hand to indicate what he meant, he said, "I got the stuff."  
"Good."  
Rising from the bed, Castiel took care so as to not reveal the glowing vial in his right hand. He didn't need Dean asking questions – not now. Gingerly, he removed the bag from the hunter's outstretched hands before preparing the spell over the map. Once everything was assembled he swiftly poured the vial into the concoction before Dean could get a word in edgewise. The instant his Grace came into contact with the mixture there was a vibrant light as all the roads and lines glowed a vibrant LED blue. Whispering in Enochian, he specified the spell to Crowley before the vial relinquished its final drop.  
The light vanished as suddenly as it appeared, leaving behind phantom lights on the insides of Castiel's eyelids. Searching the map, it didn't take long for the ex-Angel to find what he was looking for.  
"Cass, what the-"  
"Detroit."  
"What?"  
"Crowley is in Detroit."  
"So that means –"  
"That is where we will find Sam."


	13. XIII

"Dude, we're in **California**. It'll take at least two days without stopping! How can we be sure if he won't be gone?"  
"The spell tracks him, Dean. It will move with him."  
Castiel began rolling up the map while Dean stood in silence. The sound of something hitting the ground grabbed his attention as he snatched the now empty vial before Castiel had a chance to hide it again. The way Castiel tried to look calm and failed let Dean know that something was definitely up.  
"What the hell was in this, Cass?"  
"It was nothing of import."  
"Right, so if I just…lick the residue nothing weird'll happen, right?"  
The look of disgust and horror almost made Dean laugh his ass off, but he caught himself before that happened. He had originally been bluffing, but based on the reaction Castiel didn't have to know that.  
"Dean, **no**! Just give it back."  
"Not until you say what it is."

Castiel felt his body shiver and his Grace swell as Dean inched the vial closer to his lips. He tried weakly to grab his wrist and stop him, but Dean stepped out of his reach. He felt heat begin to rush all over his body as his heart pounded in his chest.  
"D-Dean, please stop this."  
"Not until you tell me."  
"Dean, I do not know what it-"  
"What is it?"  
"-would do to you if you consume it."  
"**What** is it?"  
Castiel made a grab for it once more as Dean's tongue snaked out and wiggled into the lip of the vial. Suddenly Cass's entire body felt like it was on fire as his Grace reacted to Dean's tongue lapping at its disconnected piece. An animalistic noise escaped his throat as his body involuntarily seized backwards before dropping to the floor.  
"S-st…op, Dean! It's my…..it's my…"  
His breaths were coming in hollow gasps as his body continued to writhe on the floor. Dean's expression was hard to describe from the instances he could see it – a homogenous mixture of horror, fascination and curiosity. The hunter slowly removed his tongue and the effect was immediate; Castiel's body went limp as he whimpered from the sudden loss of heat and sensation.  
"It's your what, Cass?"  
Dean's voice sounded just as breathless as his own, Castiel trying hard to read him and coming up with nothing.  
"It was a piece of my Grace, Dean."

It took everything Dean had not to throw the vial across the room.  
"Wait, **what**?"  
"You just licked a piece of my soul."  
Dean really didn't know how he felt about that. Looking over the Angel who was still boneless on the floor, his eyes traveled south and his eyebrows decided to join his hairline. Regaining composure quickly, he decided to have some fun.  
"That good, huh?"  
"I don't even…"  
"Looks like you're packing some heat there, chuckles."  
"Packing some heat?"  
"Y'know…packing some heat, you're happy to see me?"  
"Happy to…"  
"A banana in your pants – y'know! A boner."  
"A boner?"

Castiel's brow furrowed as his mind continued to work around the sensations still buzzing at the tips of his nerves.  
"An erection."  
"Oh."  
Castiel looked down into his lap, examining the lump of flesh contained underneath his cotton pants. He remembered vaguely that it was important to humans, used for something…his mind still refused to grasp what. Deciding it was not of import, he went to rise only to have the sensations return with force. Laying back down on the floor he resigned himself to laying very still.  
"Uh, Cass?"  
"Yes Dean?"  
"You gonna take care of that?"  
Castiel blinked at Dean.  
"Take care of…?"  
Finally it all clicked.  
"Oh, copulation."  
"Right, sex."  
"No."

Dean sputtered. Who the hell said no to sex?  
"What do you mean no?"  
"Just no."  
"Dude, I know this place where we could find you a nice girl to-"  
"No, Dean."  
Thinking a moment, he decided he might as well ask.  
"What, you swing the other way?"  
"I do not understand that reference."  
"Wait…are you a virgin?"  
Castiel's silence was like a neon sign. Oh this was too good.  
"You mean to tell me that you haven't done a little 'cloud seeding' upstairs?"  
"I haven't had occasion, okay?"  
"Oh-ho-ho. Oh Cass. Look, I know two things for sure."  
"Dean-"  
"One: Bert and Ernie are gay."  
"Dean-"  
"Two: You are not dying a virgin, not on my watch."  
"Dean, that's not-"  
"No arguments. Now get some clothes on, you look like a bum."  
"But Sam-"  
Dean felt his patience fraying, Castiel's persistence on the matter was starting to get to him.  
"Just let me do this one thing for you, Cass."  
"Dean, I do not want that."  
"You don't want to lose your virginity?"  
"Not this way."  
"Cass-"  
"No."

The buzzing slowly faded as Castiel sat up then stood. He didn't look at Dean, couldn't. Moving to the bathroom, he closed and locked the door behind himself. This was going to be a long night.

Dean let Cass go, watched his receding shape go into the bathroom and shut the door. Looking down into his hand, he realized that he still had the vial. Pulling it up to his face again, he snickered silently at the idea of sticking his tongue back into the vial. Sobering up, he thought better of it. Guiding it higher still, he hesitantly sniffed the contents. It smelled of something sweet with a little spice, like sun warmed skin and cheap shampoo. More than anything, it was what he had found Cass to smell like. Dean's jaw clenched for a second before he re-corked the vial and shoved it into the pocket of his leather jacket.

Half an hour later Castiel emerged from the bathroom, clean and more relaxed after a long hot shower. Looking over he found Dean asleep on the bed, fully clothed with his arms crossed. A smile tugged at his mouth as Castiel turned out the lights and slipped into bed. He took care so as to not wake the hunter as he lied his head down on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart's rhythmic beats sending him off to sleep.


	14. XIV

They departed early in the morning, both of them sitting in the awkward silence the before had instilled. Miles and place markers flowed past the window as Castiel stared in wonder. It was such a shame humans did not appreciate it. Looking back to his surroundings inside of the car before his eyes landed on something he did not understand, he mused aloud.  
"The glove compartment is inaccurately named."

Dean peered at Castiel through the corner of his eye, searching for some reason behind his sudden outburst.  
"Why's that?"  
"It does not customarily contain instruments to keep appendages warm."  
"English?"  
"Gloves are not inside."  
"Huh."  
Thinking on the contents of his glove compartment, he chuckled gently. The Angel turned to him, obviously confused by the action.  
"I've got gloves in my compartment."  
"Oh."  
"So it's not all wrong."  
"I see."  
Castiel turned back to the window, but Dean felt a little tension release from their exchange. Dean smiled softly to himself as he focused on the road ahead. They were going to be okay. As they stopped for the night, Dean thought on the weight of the vial still resting in the pocket of his coat. Gulping down a little liquid courage, he knew he had to ask.  
"Hey Cass?"  
"I am beginning to think that when you address me like that our conversations will not be pleasant."  
"No! I mean, look – just listen, okay?"  
"What Dean?"  
The hunter slowly pulled the empty vial out of his pocket. He hesitated before showing it to Castiel. The ex-Angel automatically tensed, Dean knew he would regret this.  
"I was just…I was thinking. If you used your Grace in that spell, how did you get it in this?"

Castiel knew he should have been more cautious. Conceding defeat for one of the first times on this journey, he let Dean have the truth.  
"I used this."  
Reaching his hand into the pocket if his trench coat that always kept close, he revealed his Angelic Blade. Weighing it in his hands, he looked at its sleek silver shape as he continued.  
"It is an Angelic Blade, one of the only things that can kill or harm an Angel."  
"So then…"  
"I used it to cut myself so that I could get the required amount of Grace."  
"And since you aren't sporting any glowing cuts…"  
"I healed myself, yes."

Dean digested this new information slowly. Somehow he couldn't stop thinking Castiel was trying to kill himself.  
"Why?"  
His voice came out shakier than he had intended. 'God damn this emotional bullshit.'  
"What do you-"  
"Why are you killing yourself to do all of this? Don't you dare say it was for me-"  
"It was, Dean. I have rebelled against Heaven, been sentenced to Dean and yet still I fight. I have tortured Demons, knowingly harmed myself and I did it – all of it – for you."  
Castiel had made his way to Dean as he spoke, their bodies only inches apart as he stared him down with his too blue irises. Dean couldn't look at him then, couldn't let him get any closer than he already was. He couldn't take losing any more.  
"How long do we have?"  
"The answer won't make you feel any better, Dean."  
"I have a right to know."

Castiel knew he was right, knew he had that right. Still, it pained him to be so close only to feel like his words would become an ocean between them.  
"Three months."  
"Jesus Christ, Cass! Did you really think it wouldn't matter to me if you just up and died **nine months ahead of schedule**? Fuck, man…"

Dean stormed past Castiel, taking special care not to brush him as he walked past. He didn't want to feel the Angel, not now. With a looming deadline and the idea that he had gotten so close to someone only to lose them too it was all just too much. He needed to get as far away from it all as he could and yet he couldn't afford to run away so late in the game. Sam was too close for him to screw up now.

Castiel couldn't get the vial out of his head. The idea of it being his undoing wasn't what plagued as his conscience – it was the thought that over the last 24hrs Dean had decided to hold onto it and even now he had it in his hand as if he was reluctant to lose it.  
"Why did you keep it?"

Dean had no idea what Castiel was on about.  
"Keep what?"  
"The vial. Why did you pocket it?"  
Oh fuck.  
"I…just did, okay?"

Castiel turned to Dean then, watching the tension in his shoulders as his curiosity only became stronger. He pushed harder still.  
"Yes, but why, Dean?"  
"Because I wanted to, okay?"  
Dean flipped around to face him, his eyes swimming with emotions foreign to Castiel.  
"I just…"  
Dean looked away again averting his eyes like it physically hurt him to look.  
"I wanted to know I'd have some piece of you, something to…I dunno, remember you by when all of this is over and you go back to Heaven."  
Castiel's brow furrowed, confused by Dean's confession. Sudden clarity hit him and for a moment all he could do was stare at Dean in disbelief.  
"You don't believe I would come back if I left."  
It was a statement, not a question. Gauging Dean's reaction in both body and soul, he knew he had been right.  
"Dean, I would come back for you."  
"Right, because you have a reason to stay."  
"Dean, I do not require one. I will always come when you call. Have my actions said nothing for me?"  
"Yeah, but things-"  
"The circumstances change nothing. If you need me I will be here."  
Dean met his eyes at last, searching for something he did not know how to provide. Castiel didn't think, barely breathed as his hand moved on instinct until he found his right hand cupping the Righteous Man's cheek. Finally the words were with him once more.  
"I will always come back."

Without thought, Dean closed the gap between them, their mouths meeting in a wordless exchange. He heard Castiel gasp gently, felt the rush of air and parted lips against his own. For a moment it was awkward until the Angel relaxed into his vessel and clumsily kissed back. It was by no means the perfect first kiss, stubble burning both of their chins as it became slightly more heated.  
Still, it was comfortable and inevitable yet so right that neither man thought to continue beyond it; it was all still so new. Dean was the first to pull away, his eyes opening to the suddenly bright room and the sight of his swollen lipped Angel looking both content and confused. Clearing his throat, Dean made no move to detangle himself from Castiel's embrace.  
"Cass, right now…I – we, we can't. Not now. Sammy's –"  
"It is alright, Dean."  
A sad smile crept onto the Angel's face then, as beautiful as it was heartbreaking.  
"I know."  
Dean couldn't bring himself to correct what he could only imagine was going through Castiel's mind; he couldn't bring himself to tell the Angel in his arms all of the things he knew he meant and yet he knew he'd never say.


	15. XV

They woke before sunrise on the last morning of their journey, pretending to sleep to prolong the feeling of being together if only a little longer. When they rose and prepared they both found themselves in the outfits they were when they met – Dean's clothes mended to a condition of wearability they lacked originally. Silence kept them company as they loaded into the Impala and began the drive to Detroit.  
It was a suicide plan, neither man thinking they would make it out alive and yet prepared to fight to the death to ensure the other's survival. In hindsight, Dean would look back and realize how foolish they had been, how careless. This was the day he would come to regret.  
Driving through Corktown had proved to be their undoing. The pair had prepared for an ambush, expecting nothing less of the enemy they sought, but they were not prepared for one at such a distance. It began with a chase down Michigan Avenue resulting in the Impala spinning out of control before barrel rolling to a stop. The seatbelts Castiel had insisted they both wear had saved their lives long enough for them to exit the vehicle before the Demons came in for the attack.  
Dean had shown Castiel how to use a gun weeks before, his shot good and yet better now with training. Everything moved so fast, a flurry of guns and jerking movements; the two moved in a synchronized unison without muttering a single word. Neither spared a glance at the other, knowing full well their eyes would betray them and the urge to protect would kill them both.

Dean didn't see Castiel go down, didn't hear the sound of blades slicing through flesh over the din of rounds go off in his hands. When the last Demon fell he turned a triumphant smile to his companion only to find him bleeding and motionless on the ground.  
"Cass!"  
Dean sprinted before sliding on his knees to Castiel's side, taking stock of the damage dealt.  
"Dean, I-"  
"Cass, man, don't talk – everything is…"  
He couldn't bring himself to say it would be alright. The Demon had gotten him bad, a stab wound at his hip and a blade still protruding from his left shoulder just below the bone but likely lodged into his shoulder blade. There was no hospital for quite a while and he didn't know how much time would be taken away if Castiel attempted to heal himself.  
"Dean, we have to finish this."  
The Angel tried to stand and failed as more blood made its way from his wounds.  
"Cass, stop!"  
"We are so close-"  
"Just stop it!"  
"-we have to save Sam."  
Castiel!"

It had been a long time since Dean had used his full name, causing the ex-Angel to flinch at the suddenness of it. It seemed so foreign coming from the hunter, so wrong.  
"We need to stitch this up, stop the bleeding."  
"Dean, there's no time."  
"Cass-"  
"If they were expecting us, they might be on the move again."  
"- I can't lose you!"  
The look in Dean's eyes was of pained desperation, something so deeply rooted Castiel couldn't fathom where it had come from. Still, he wanted to sooth him.  
"I will not leave you, Dean."

They both knew how hollow the promise was and yet neither voiced it; not now, not when it would only prove to crumble the little reserve they had left to see this through to the end.  
"How long will it cut off if you heal yourself?"  
"I can't, Dean."  
"What?"  
Their voices were barely above whispers, a mixture between horror and sadness dancing through their tones. Their facades were failing fast.  
"My Grace is beyond the point of waning, Dean. I cannot…'magic my wounds away', as you once put it."  
A strangled sob escaped the hunter as his hands desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood coming from his companion. Castiel removed his coat and suit jacket before tearing long strips off of the sleeves of his ruined white shirt. Using the jacket as padding, they bandaged him as best they could. Dean protested removing the blade at first, afraid that he would bleed out once the wound was fully open; Castiel simply ripped the sleeves off of the jacket and used them as padding before pulling it free and making quick work with the bandages. Standing with difficulty, he turned to Dean once more.  
"We're only a mile from where Crowley is holding Sam, Dean. We can't stop now, not when we're so close."  
"Fine, but I'm going alone."  
"Dean-"  
"Can you honestly walk in this condition?"

Without answering Castiel took a deep breath before placing his hand on Dean's forehead. Flying hurt more than the knife wounds, more than anything. The skeletal remains of his wings were breaking into pieces as he carried himself and Dean to a location within 'spitting distance' of Crowley's hide out. To say they crash landed was an understatement as Dean found himself thrown into a pile of old crates while Castiel collided with the wall before falling to the ground.

It took Dean a minute before his brain caught up with the rate of travel and he realized what had happened. Scrambling from the pile he was tossed into, he found Castiel in a motionless heap on the floor. His muscles ached, his brain screaming protest as he made his way as quickly as possible to the ex-Angel. Flipping him over, he was relieved to find him breathing.  
"Cass, you child!"  
"We don't have time to fight with each other, Dean, not now."  
"How long do you have?"  
"Dean."  
"How long?"  
"Two months."  
"Christ."  
"You should reevaluate who you call to for assistance. I do not see how a dead Jewish man will help you."  
A faint, playful smile tugged at the man in his arms' face. 'Of all the times to joke…' Dean couldn't help but return the smile.  
"Bitch."  
"Assbutt."  
"…Assbutt? Really?"

Castiel chuckled as he used Dean to rise. They were on Crowley's doorstep, there was no time for this.  
"Let us go."  
"Alright."


	16. XVI

They used stealth to make their way through the corridors, avoiding conflict as best they could. Neither man knew how they were going to get out of this with Sam, but they focused on the present instead. Dean had one magazine left, filled completely with iron rounds, and he knew the Demon banishing chants almost as well as Sam; Castiel had one last trick up his sleeve, a final Ace in the hole to ensure their victory. Silently he hoped he would not have to use it and yet he was prepared to if it came to it.  
It took hours before they managed to find the inner sanctum, the place with the most guards and the least entrances. They sat in a tense anticipation as they watched the guards stand their ground.  
"This where they're keeping Sam?"  
"Yes, but why?"

Dean turned to Castiel then, disbelief washing over him. This was something they had never talked about, almost as taboo as it was mysterious. Castiel began to rise, sending terror down the hunter's spine as he grabbed his frail wrist.  
"What do you-"  
"Do you trust me?"  
"Yes."  
Dean did not hesitate, his green eyes locked onto Castiel's blue ones.  
"Follow my lead."  
He held on for a few moments longer before releasing his arm and standing at his side. Castiel turned back to the guards, his stance oddly confident from someone so disheveled, so utterly cut down.  
"Tell your boss that we have arrived."  
The guards jumped into action then, obviously surprised and confused by the suddenness of their appearance paired by the cool demeanor of the men in front of them. At least, that's what Dean was hoping was what they got from it all.  
"Yeah? And who's that?"  
"The hunters who have been killing all of his men."

Castiel's words were over half bluff, a nervous coil making his stomach do somersaults. He knew this was a risk, but a Demon who had gone through all of this trouble clearly had a little flourish, a sense of self and possibly an ego that just begged to be inflated. Inflation meant a possible way out, a means to find answers with a little creative prodding. Dean had taught him a thing or two, Castiel would proudly admit to only himself. Maybe they could make it out of this alive, but Castiel didn't put any faith in that notion.  
As luck would have it, the ex-Angel was right. Crowley was narcissistic in the best possible way for their plan to succeed. As his henchmen lead the two into the dingy basement room, Castiel quietly assessed the situation with each step.  
"Well, well, well. Here I'd been expecting someone taller – instead I get two puny meat heads with a sense of bravado."  
The sarcasm of his voice seemed almost amplified by his English accent; this pinched, posh man was not what Castiel had been expecting. Shockingly enough, he could work with it.  
"Sorry to disappoint."  
Castiel offered a small smile to the confident tone from the hunter beside him. Somehow, even now, they were making a great team. The sound of a hit quickly replaced the smile with fury, something that seemed to infinitely amuse the Demon.  
"You've got a lot of spunk for someone who should be dead. Perhaps I should personally fix that mistake – wouldn't want you to ruin the party. 'If you want something done' and all that."  
"You lay a finger on him and I will-"  
"You'll what? _Scream_ me to death? Fat chance, love. Not much you can do when I hold **all the fucking cards**!"  
"A hostage is hardly a trump card."  
"A hostage? Oh, ho. You really don't know what is going on, do you?"  
Castiel had been right in thinking Crowley was ignorant of his true form – something that would have been impossible had he been at full capacity. He found it vaguely strange, feeling almost grateful that he was nearing death.  
"Let me tell you a little story, Love."  
Crowley dragged a chair to where he had both man standing, making a gesture while his men forced them into kneeling positions. The Demon straddled the chair before he continued, a smile of pure glee on his face.  
"There was once an Angel who loved his Daddy Dearest too much, so when he didn't play nice with the other children he was thrown out on his ass."  
"Lucifer."  
A venomous hate struck his face as he gestured again. Suddenly Castiel was pulled violently back by his hair, dragged a small distance before the Demon holding him in place began beating him savagely – starting with punches before evolving to kicks and then finally dragging him back when no matter what way he turned his body burned with pain and his breaths came in ragged gasps. If he was correct he now had a concussion and three cracked ribs to add to the list of damages. His left eye was already swelling, preventing him from seeing how Dean was fairing, but somehow he knew there were murderous thoughts in his mind.  
"I _hate_ rude people. Consider this your only warning: **never** interrupt me. Now where were we?"  
Crowley stopped for a second, drawing out the silence with one finger gently tapping his recollection, he continued.  
"Oh yes, Lucifer. He was punished, banished for his love. The pain festered into anger, soon turning into hatred. He wanted revenge but he was locked away into a bloody cage with no way out. Any questions?"  
"What does this have to do with Sam?"  
"So _impatient_! Well, let's just say God loves all of his children very much - even the fuck ups. He built a back door to the cage, one that can be used by anyone and have it lead anywhere."  
"What are you talking about?"  
"You see, once every millennium a handful of children are born. They are rare – very hard to track down but well worth it."  
Castiel knew where this was going at last, paling at the implication.  
"These children are special – closer to Angels than Humans by design. They have a direct bloody link to Heaven in their heads. With the right spells, it could take anyone – anything - there."  
"Sam and Dean-"  
"Are the children of this millennium. Dean's a bit unfaithful for my tastes – hard to build a bridge if the support beams think the destination doesn't exist. Little Sammy, on the other hand, he's just what the doctor ordered. A little stubborn, granted, but definitely the better choice."  
"What could you possibly do with a doorway to Heaven? The Angels would -"  
"I'd imagine they'd all die, seeing as it would be the legions of hell against an army of Angels that is of limited capacity at best."  
Castiel knew he was right and it terrified him. He had to stop this, had to make sure it didn't happen. He briefly acknowledged that he would have to break his promise after all. He flexed the remains of his wings in preparation as he continued to egg the Demon on.  
"Sam would never agree to it."  
"You have me there; he's been resisting us for a long time. Now that you two idiots are here, though, I'm thinking that if we kill his brother it'll-"

Dean felt Castiel shift before he saw him moved. The Angel broke the hold the Demons held him in, slamming his hands onto their faces with a sudden flash of light. He was there one second and then beside Dean the next – another flash of light and the Demons holding him were gone too.  
"Cass-"  
The Angel disappeared again, suddenly on Crowley – grasping the sides of his suit and slamming him into the wall. The Demon looked terrified, a stark look of realization washing over him.  
"You're-"  
"Not of import – **where is Sam Winchester**?"  
A shaking hand pointed to the adjoined room. Castiel didn't even turn when he addressed Dean, keeping his cerulean eyes locked on the Demon in his hands.  
"Go to him."  
"What have you done?"  
Dean's voice cracked as the words escaped him. He didn't bother waiting for a reply he knew would never come, silently stumbling over to the dead bolted door and swinging it open. Sam lied on the floor, curled in on himself but still breathing. Dean rushed to him, pulling his brother into his arms while breathing out his name.  
"Dean?"  
He sounded so tired, so weak. They'd found him, Castiel had saved Sammy. He turned to Cass then, wanting to say so much only to be cut off with a single look. The Angel was staring at him then, really looking at Dean and it was that instant he knew.  
"You're not going to keep your promise, are you?"  
"I am sorry, Dean."  
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before he looked away and slowly turned back to Crowley, his right hand moving from the front of his suit to lay across his face. Another brilliant light display erupted from the smaller man's frame, enveloping them and suddenly Dean found himself in the last hotel he had shared with Castiel, still clutching Sam tight. Without a doubt, Dean knew. His heart sank somewhere far away as he truly felt the loss of his cherished companion. Castiel was gone and Dean never got to say goodbye. Silently he held his brother even closer, internally cursing his fallen comrade, his Angelic companion.  
Morning came and Dean was reluctant to leave his brother's side. Sam, however, was as much of a bitch as ever.  
"Make sure the room is paid for."  
"Sam-"  
"Dean, we just barely got out of there alive and I can't remember the last time I got a hot shower. I'd really rather not get out of one situation only to be landed in jail for breaking and entering. Go out, pay for the room and grab us some food. I'm not going anywhere."  
"Fine, bitch."  
"Whatever, jerk."  
Dean reluctantly exited the room and hunted down the front desk. Relief washed over the owner's face as she saw him approach, a genuine smile on her lips.  
"Oh good! I was starting to worry that your friend had booked the room prematurely."  
"Pardon?"  
"You know, your friend from before. Tall and wiry with a trench coat?"  
Something had a vice grip on Dean's heart.  
"He said you would need it for the rest of the week, booked it with your credit card…Is everything okay?"  
It took Dean a moment to process everything.  
"..Yeah."  
Dean forced a reassuring smile, unsure of how well he was pulling it off but not really caring.  
"Yeah, everything's awesome."  
He went to the parking lot, finding his baby in one piece with the keys in the ignition like he'd only just stepped out of her. He didn't know how he had done it, but Cass had. His body betrayed his attempts to shove everything down as he felt a traitorous tear fall. Pulling open the door and slumping into the driver's seat, Dean punched the steering wheel while he tried to stop more tears from coming.  
"Castiel…you fucking liar."


	17. Epilogue

Almost one year had passed since the incident, still no signs of Castiel to be found. The brother's slowly built their lives again from the ground up – rebuilding the Singer Salvage Yard and their collection of books on supernatural lore. It was three months before Sam was ready to recount his experiences at the hands of Crowley, half a year before the nightmares stopped. Dean still couldn't bring himself to tell Sam what he had gone through or who the dark haired man in the trench coat was that saved their sorry asses. Sam was understanding enough not to push. Not too frequently anyways.  
"Dean –"  
"Sammy, no."  
"You need to talk about it, Dean!"  
"No, Sam, I don't. Drop it."  
"Not until you tell me."  
"Tell you **what**? That we were saved by an Angel? That I'm the reason that Angel died, because I wasn't strong enough? That I couldn't help him when he needed me most?"  
Sam backed off, his mind still reeling with more questions than answers.

Every night when Dean went to sleep he would dream of a blinding light and sorrow filled blue eyes. Most nights he didn't bother sleeping at all, he was unable to bear the sight of him – yet another person he cared about that he couldn't save. No matter how many Demons he hunted, no matter how many creatures he killed Castiel was gone. Nothing would change that.

Sam watched his brother fall apart and he had no idea what to do. He tried researching Angels, finding ways to bring them back from wherever they go when they die, but there wasn't anything to find. The lore didn't exist, so unless he could find a way to summon one he had nothing. Dean wouldn't talk to him either, leaving him in the dark on what happened while they traveled in search of him. Some nights he would catch Dean looking over a small vial in his hand, his face distant. It always ended the instant Dean noticed Sam watching, Dean laughing it off and hiding it in his jacket once again.

The one year anniversary hit Dean like a train, something he had been prepared for and yet he had dreaded. He wasn't the sentimental type and still he could not forget. Telling Sam he would be away for a little while, promising he would call, Dean set out for Detroit. He arrived at the remains of the abandoned building by nightfall. It hadn't changed much, a few unruly blades growing up from beneath the asphalt. He sat down on the spot Castiel had stood, a beer in hand as he silently toasted to his departed friend. Dean was too lost in the past to hear the gentle sound of wings rustling or gentle foot falls approaching.  
"Hello Dean."  
At first Dean thought that maybe he was hearing things, just the alcohol or his mind playing tricks. It took him a moment to see the shadow laying over him, wings outstretched and quivering in anticipation. The world was in slow motion as he turned to face the winged man behind him.  
"Cass?"  
A small smile crept onto the all too familiar face in front of him, eyes twinkling slightly.  
"It has been a long time."

Castiel, admittedly, had been expecting a lot of things out of the day he got to see Dean again. Being punched was not one of them.  
"You sonovabitch!"  
That blow hurt the Righteous Man more so than the Angel who was shocked more than anything, turning back to face Dean while he momentarily cradled his hurt hand before launching himself at Castiel once more. He flinched, but only for a second before their mouths met in a ferocious, passion filled kiss that quickly turned into an involved make out session.  
It had only happened once before and yet Castiel missed this – missed Dean. God had saved him at the last second, restoring his link and healing his Grace just before he blinked out of existence. All of the other Angels had kept him in Heaven in an attempt to learn why their father had saved him, the one who had rebelled. Despite getting everything back, despite his re-admittance to Heaven, the only thing he wanted was Dean. Finally it was reality.

Dean was the first to pull back, resting his forehead against Castiel's as he caught his breath. Not a day had passed that Dean didn't regret letting him go.  
"Don't you **ever** leave again."  
"I will never leave you, Dean."

The made love for the first time in the backseat of the Impala; It was fast and a learning experience, more exploratory than the practiced sessions Dean was used to. Their bodies molded together like they were built for being together. Halfway through round two Sam had called five times and Dean was sick and tired of it.  
"Dude, I'm busy!"  
"Wait, what? Are you okay? What's going on?"  
"What? Nothing! I'm fine - ah! Cass, get out of my ass!"  
Castiel looked like a chastened child when he stopped long enough to reply.  
"But you said-"  
Dean snickered as the phone call was hastily terminated from the other end, not really hearing the rest of Castiel's protest. He'd have to explain it all later to his little brother, but now he had Cass and that was all that mattered. Throwing his phone into the front seat, all thoughts of Sam were quickly forgotten. At the brink just before climax on their third round Castiel grabbed Dean's left shoulder, infusing his Grace into the touch until it marked his lover down to his very soul. Simultaneously Dean laid his hand across Castiel's heart, looping his other arm around his back, cradling the Angel in his arms so close that his soul reciprocated the action and sealed their bond with a matching hand print.  
Afterwards, in hushed tones against sweat soaked skin, Castiel explained what they had done – how Dean was now bonded to the Angel for all eternity, how when he died his soul would unravel and reform into Grace so that he could stand beside Castiel as an equal, an Angel. Dean smiled lazily into his Angel's hair, running his hand over his back while murmuring softly to him.  
"I'd like that."


End file.
